


As Necessity Commands It

by BubbleBakerPenguinPie



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Mando Dad tenderness, Toddler Bodhi Rook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22148467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleBakerPenguinPie/pseuds/BubbleBakerPenguinPie
Summary: Bodhi started. A Mandolarja? He'd only ever seen one before, in the marketplace in Jedha City. He'd only been a boy, ducking out of the way as the Mandolarja bounty hunter apprehended his quarry. There had been flamethrowers involved, as he recalled. And a modulated voice from behind a solid helmet with a T-shaped visor, saying 'Relax, boy. I'm not here for you.'aka The One Time Bodhi Rook met a Mandalorian as a small child, and what he thinks he remembers, and what really happened
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya, this piece was inspired in large part by the Mandalorian TV series, and is also loosely connected to my Rogue One story 'Sunburst'. You do not need to read one to understand the other, but maybe you will want to anyway.

_Bodhi started. A Mandolarja? He'd only ever seen one before, in the marketplace in Jedha City. He'd only been a boy, ducking out of the way as the Mandolarja bounty hunter apprehended his quarry. There had been flamethrowers involved, as he recalled. And a modulated voice from behind a solid helmet with a T-shaped visor, saying 'Relax, boy. I'm not here for you.'_

Here's what Bodhi remembers: the sun of a bright day glinting above the roofs of the city on the plateau, enough to make light the crowded alleys, but not high enough in the sky yet for its rays to reach down between the densely packed houses. His mother saying that they would go to the market and then after visit nana in her little house beyond Fountain Square. Impatience as his parents seem to take forever to get ready. Dangling his legs over the edge of the chair where his father had sat him down to tie his shoes. _I know the way_ , he thinks and slips off that chair and then out the door and into the street. _I know the way and I'll just go ahead._

Here's what he remembers: the close press of legs around him dissipating after a loud thud and crash somewhere close. Yelling. The unsteady rumbling of the ground beneath his feet. He gets knocked over in the commotion, lands on his rear end with a yelp, instinctively curls in on himself, a tiny bundle in the square. Someone shoves him. A hands drags under his back and yanks, a voice yells _Run! Hide!_ Everything is suddenly so very loud. He yelps again and crawls underneath an upturned cart, dust stinging in his throat. Perhaps he really should have waited for his parents. He feels his throat closing up, the sting of the dust joined by the sting of tears about to fall.

He inches forward, to the edge of the cart. If the street is clear, he'll just bolt for it and run back home. But the street is not clear. Bodhi sees a figure run, then stumble and fall to be dragged backwards by the rope slung around his ankle. The figure struggles, trying to break loose. He snarls a vicious-sounding curse and grabs a blade from his boot, raising it at his approaching captor like he's not scrabbling in the dirt of the street. His captor... to Bodhi he looks like some sort of giant. Covered from his heavy boots to his shining silver helmet. Covered in metal plating painted with rust red accents. The two struggle, come to blows, the blade clatters away with a punch that sound bone-crunching, a blaster is drawn and fought over even more viciously. A shot rips loose and the impact scorches the cart's already bent frame just above Bodhi's head, at which he startles and yelps, scrambling backwards until he hits the cart's back wall. He squeezes his eyes closed and presses his hands over them for good measure.

Here's the last of what Bodhi remembers: a dark, T-shaped visor set in a rim of rust rest on a shining silver helmet. A gloved hand reaching out for him. A metallic voice. Bodhi whimpers and tries to get away, but the damn cart has him trapped. 


	2. Chapter 2

Here's what Bodhi doesn't remember: 

"Hey, hey, relax little boy, I'm not here to hurt you." The Mandalorian coaxes, lying on his stomach in front of the overturned cart where a child was hiding. And crying. Loudly. Because of course as soon as he'd apprehended the quarry, the guy had started to fight, and as soon as the fighting started, the people had scattered. Except for this toddler. Well, he had scattered and hidden, which was smart as such. And nearly taken a blaster shot to the face, distracting the quarry long enough to be overpowered at last. Truth be told, that little face with its huge, frightened eyes poking out between the bent slats nearly gave him a heart attack. He tries again to coax the kid out, trying to make his voice sound soft and gentle. It earns him nothing but another snotty wheeze, more huge, heaving sobs. He can see the little boy where he's cowering, red-faced and terrified, so small with such large, fearful eyes. He could just pull him out by one stubby leg, but that wouldn't exactly serve to make the boy less afraid, so he'd rather get him to calm down and get out of his own volition. 

"This isn't working, father!" He calls to the other Mandalorian, who is stood off to the side restraining the quarry. A helmet tilts thoughtfully. 

"How old?" 

The younger Mandalorian looks to the child again, heart lurching in sympathy along with the wrenching sobs. 

"Hard to say," certainly younger than any of the Foundlings in their tribe, "Maybe... no older than four, I think. He's really very little."

A sigh as the quarry is bundled onto the rear of a speeder bike and secured so that he can't move, much less get away. 

"He might not understand Basic yet, then." The older Mandalorian trots over, tsk-ing softly. He kneels and bends, taking in the scene. 

"Well," he concludes with the kind of wisdom won only of experience, "that could take a while. But he doesn't seem to be hurt, just very scared. That's something."

The streets, of course, are still swept clean of people, and will be until the Mandalorians depart. And depart they cannot when there is a lost and frightened child with no one to take care of him. 

The older man's posture visibly softens, then he looks around. It's a fairly secluded corner, just the right size for a street vendor's cart. The hiccupy sobs echo hauntingly. Mind made up, he lifts gloved hands to his helmet. 

"Father!" The cry is alarmed. After all it's barely been a month since the younger Mandalorian had sworn the Creed. 

"When necessity commands it." He answers, and then the helmet is off and set carefully onto the sloping cart. 

"But father! The Way!"

"The Way," the father intones solemnly as he leans down further, "is wide enough to accomodate a multitude of paths. I taught you that we do not remove our helmets unless necessity commands it."

Now fully lowered onto the ground, the father reaches for the frightened child with a careful smile and beckoning hand. "Necessity may come in many different shapes, and that is one of the things I can tell you about, but that only experience can truly teach you. And when you should find yourself where the demands of the Way clash, I hope I have taught you well enough to know that the path to choose is that of greater honor, and that one of the greatest honors is mercy. _Hello there, did you get lost?_ "

Voice changing from certain Mando'a to tender Jedhani. It is enough to make the child stop and start, cries subsiding into sniffles for a moment of surprise. He nods, then shakes his little head, shifts closer. A few moments more of gentle persuasion and he lets himself be plucked from the wreckage, as going wide as plates at the deserted destruction surrounding them.

"It's okay. It's over. You're safe. You're safe with me." The father soothes, raising the boy on his knee and wiping tears and snot from still-baby-round cheeks with the soft leather of his glove. It's a gesture that has comforted numerous fearful children, including the one currently watching the scene unfold with recognition clamoring at his heart. 

Eventually the child settles enough to be intrigued by their beskar'gam, rather than terrified. They've also determined that although too shy to speak, the boy understands Basic well enough, which is relief since they've stretched their linguistic skills about as far as they would go. He's inspecting the father's helmet now, pudgy little hands timidly patting its angular features. 

"I have to put this back on now." A small frown knits itself between those wide round eyes. "I'm not supposed to take it off, but I won't tell anyone if you don't." The father explains conspiratively, and that round little hand flies up to catch a gasp. His head swivels around to the, still helmeted, young Mandalorian and he mouthes a very intent _'Shhh!'_ and is not satisfied until the gesture is mirrored

"Alright, _adi'ka_. Let's take you home." 

They stand again, helmeted both, and the father hefts the little child up on his arm as they walk over to their speederbike. 

"Alright, you have to show us the way to your house." The boy nods very earnestly and looks around, unused to the height he has now over the street. His own father is much shorter. He contemplates a moment, then points an arm southward. 

"What if we don't find his family?" The young Mandalorian asks as they start walking, dragging the bike with the squirming quarry along with them through the alleys. 

"We will. You know the way, don't you?" 

"And what if they're not ...good?" 

"Then you'll become a big brother." 

"Technically I found him." The son bends up to tickle a chubby cheek. Under his helmet, he's grinning. 

"Technically you're seventeen." 

"Father, I..." 

"You should wish to never have to take on a Foundling. To lose home and family as a child is a vicious fate that we can only hope to soften." 

They walk in silence after that, rounding corners as the little one points them forward. 

"You did a good job of it though." The son remarks, so quiet the wind would carry it away if there were any. Wordlessly, his father slings an arm around his shoulders and plonks their helmets together at the forehead. 

Across the street, a door flies open, and a woman flies out of it, uncaring that she is barreling towards not one but two Mandalorians. 

"Bodhi!" 

"Ammi!" 

It's the first word he's said throughout, and he's almost falling out of the Mandalorian's hold to be with his mother again. So he gets handed over, unceremoniously and not unlike an excitable bag of tooka kittens. 

"Thank you!" The woman is openly crying now, hugging her son close. 

"He was out there all alone." If it sounds accusing, that's because it is. Elation alone is not proof of love. 

"He wanders off sometimes. This is the first time he's gotten out of the house." A man had come out of the house after, and is now quickly checking over his son to see that nothing is amiss. "We were worried sick about you, Bodhi!" 

The child is smiling, clinging to his mother like he'll never let go. His father presses a kiss to the child's forehead, and his big dark eyes slip closed as the adrenaline drops off. 

"How can we thank you?" 

The Mandalorian demurrs. The child is safe back with his own, and he is happy because they love him deeply. And that is enough, and so he says. And so they turn to leave. And as they do, the little child waves them good-bye over his parents' shoulders. 

**Author's Note:**

> Is this our Mandalorian? Or someone else entirely? Who knows. Not I.


End file.
